


and, together, we sat watching the rain

by cherrykirsch



Category: Kamen Rider Build
Genre: Character Study, Comfort, Confessions, F/M, Fluff without Plot, Inspired by Poetry, Introspection, Love Confessions, Rain, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 20:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13555362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrykirsch/pseuds/cherrykirsch
Summary: The rain has a habit of dissolving the parts of yourself that you'd rather hide. Sawa and Sento figure this out first hand.





	and, together, we sat watching the rain

**Author's Note:**

> This was super cute to write! It's always very interesting to write from different character's perspective.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!  
> (Dedicated to my boyfriend because he give me a pairing when I really wanted to write a fic, any fic at all.)

Sento finds Sawa sitting underneath a tin bus-shelter, watching the rain fall gently from the sky like tears, and she doesn’t acknowledge him when he takes a place beside her and watches her. She just continues to stare up at the grey sky, her hands clasped together on her lap.

“What are you doing?” Sento asks her after a while, and, still, she does not turn. “Isn’t it cold?” He asks again, and this time she shrugs.

“I’m not.” She says. “You can go back to _Nascita_ if you’re cold.”

Sento tries not to take her reply personally and settles more comfortably into the wooden bench, mimicking her clasped-hand pose as he stares up into the sky with her. He wonders what she sees in amongst the grey, stormy clouds and cool rain, and he wonders if it’s something that only has meaning to her, maybe he could see it too if he looked close enough. Yet, Sawa just seems to be scanning the sky, her eyes drifting across the expanse carefully, as if this is the last chance she’ll have to see the rain again.

She sighs gently, and crosses her ankles. “I love the rain.” She says and Sento looks to her. “It reminds me of poetry.”

“Poetry?” Sento asks, brow raised.

“Yes.” She says with a small nod. “One specific verse. And my own; I only used to write poetry about rain.”

Sento nods, not quite sure what to say, and Sawa turns back fully to the sky, her shoulders relaxing as she inhales and exhales the earthy air around them. It envelops everything in a rich scent that’s comforting to breath, it makes Sento feel warm and happy, and he thinks that maybe he could fall asleep right there—to the sound of the rain pattering gently on the tin roof like gravel on a window, and the smell of the earth covering him like a warm comfort blanket.

And he’s tired, he realizes. So, tired.

He’s tired of being Build, he’s tired of being cooped up inside his basement in Nascita working on things that aren’t really his, he’s tired of not knowing who he is, he’s tired of seeing Misora miserable about not being able to go outside (it feels him with a sense of guilt and melancholy that he can’t quite place), and he’s tired of not knowing who he can trust. He’s tired of being paranoid and afraid. He’s tired of being Kiryu Sento.

And it’s a miserable thing to be tired of being yourself.

So, instead, he turns to Sawa. “What was your poetry like?” He asks her and she pauses, lips parted in surprise for a moment before she begins to breathe again.

Sawa shrugs, smiles up at the sky. “It wasn’t very good, and it was nothing like the writers I was trying to mimic.” She says, waving a hand off-handedly. “It romanticized the rain, it was about new beginnings and how beautiful it made the world through jewel-like droplets and dusk-skies.” She continues softly, and Sento thinks her voice sounds like the rain, really. “It was never any good. So, I stuck to journalism. It’s what I’m best at.”

“I think your poetry sounds beautiful,” Sento says, and he shocks even himself when he allows the words to pass his lips, startling Sawa into turning to him with wide eyes. “I could never write poetry. I wouldn’t know where to start, or what to write about, or if my words would even want to heard in this world.” He adds, the words falling from his lips like an avalanche of snow, blanketing the distance between them. “Scientific paper make more sense. I know where to start. And I know my words need to heard because there’s an ‘Important’ stamped on the front of the envelope in block capitals and red ink.”

Sawa looks at him for a moment with an unreadable expression in her eyes. “The thing about poetry is that you don’t really care about whether your words want to be heard, you just say them anyway.” She says and then she turns back to the sky. “That’s the beauty of it.”

“I see.” Sento says, settling back into his bench. But he doesn’t. He pretends for Sawa, so it will seem like someone understands; because he knows how much it hurts to have someone not understand. And he tries again. “What verse does the rain remind you of?” He asks her.

Sawa doesn’t answer, but scans the sky as if searching for something, and, when the sky lights up with faint lightning and a clap of thunder, she smiles, wide and childlike and then she turns to Sento, staring at him so seriously he’s afraid for a moment, though he knows he shouldn’t be.

“ _A faint clap of thunder_ ,” She says and Sento quickly realizes she’s reciting something, words he remembers, the poem coming back to him in a flurry of realization. “ _Clouded skies. Perhaps rain will come. If so, will you stay here with me?_ ”

Sento nods. “I will.” He says and Sawa takes one look at his serious expression and laughs, loudly and bell-like. It sounds nice. Sento realizes he likes the sound of Sawa’s laugh.

“You’re not meant to answer,” she says, as if he doesn’t understand. “It’s a Tanka.” She explains.

He nods again. “I know.” He says and Sawa seems to stop in her path, her lips parting and her eyes widening in surprise. “But I will stay here with you, if you’d like that.” He finishes and she stares at him a moment longer.

“I… would like that.” She tells him softly, and Sento nods once more, his heart singing in his chest as Sawa shuffles a little bit closer to him before gazing back up into the sky. 

His eyes trail over her carefully, looking out for any signs of distress or injury. He sees wavy chestnut hair, the deep, beautiful color of her eyes that look almost golden in the faint light, her pale blue sweater and skirt and knee high boots—and he notices that her shoulders as shaking, from what he doesn’t know, but he peels off his jacket and thrusts it in her direction. She leans back at the sudden movement and stares at it as he holds it out to her. 

She blinks up at him. “Sento…?” She asks and Sento flushes, turns away as he places the jacket in her lap.

“You’ll get cold.” He says, suddenly finding the tress across from them extremely interesting. “Just wear it, I’ll be fine.”

Sawa doesn’t say anything and Sento doesn’t look back as he hears the fabric rustle, the sound of her sitting up so she can tuck the bottom of her jacket under her and sit down without it all bunching up behind her. Then, she tugs his sleeve, and, though he braces himself before he turns, nothing could prepare him for the sight of Sawa in his jacket.

She looks small in it, like it’s drowning her or she’s being swaddled in it like an infant, and Sento can’t ignore the way his heart leaps in his chest when she pushes the sleeve back to her wrist so she could tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and the sleeve completely engulfs her hand again when she lowers it to her lap.

Sento realizes he must look floored because Sawa gives him an almost bashful smile.

“Thank you.” She tells him gently. “I was getting cold. I just didn’t want to say since you asked earlier.”

Taking the opportunity to divert his eyes away from how gorgeously adorable Sawa looks, he feigns irritation, turning from her with an exaggerated sigh. “You should’ve said,” he scolds halfheartedly. “Then I would’ve given you it sooner. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

He can almost feel Sawa’s sunny smile as he stares up at the sky. Then he hears a small inhale and Sawa’s quiet voice saying, “It smells nice.” And his heart practically stops.

“I-It shouldn’t.” He says, hoping and praying that she doesn’t notice his slight stutter (She does.) as he flounders to make it look like he wasn’t having a minor heart attack over Sawa in his jacket. “I wore that to the lab. It’s probably covered in dangerous chemicals and other nasty stuff.”

Sawa giggles into his sleeve. “Nothing bad has happened to me yet.” She says indignantly.

“It will!” He says, his voice raising an octave higher than he’d like as he turns to her with his arms outstretched. “In fact; give it back! Before you get bad chemical burns and your skin starts flaking off! Or you turn green or something!” He continues. 

Sawa replies by pouting at him and burrowing herself further into the jacket, lifting one side so it covers the lower half of her face. “No!” She protests. “It’s warm. I don’t care if I turn green.”

He leans closer to her as he begins to tug at the right side of the jacket. “What about chemical burns?” He asks and Sawa sticks out her tongue childishly, so unlike her, her face almost touching his.

“Don’t care!” She replies, shuffling back against the wall of the bus shelter as Sento shuffles closer.

“You’re acting like a child.” Sento points out, frowning as he grips the jacket. “How very unprofessional.”

“You’re acting like a child too.” Sawa chirps back happily. “How very hypocritical!”

Sento sighs. “You’re improbable.” He says.

“Nothing is improbable.” Sawa says, and Sento is suddenly very aware of how her breath fans warmly on his cheek, and how he’s almost curled over her, his hand propped on the wall behind her, effectively pinning her into the tiny corner of the bus shelter—and he’s very aware that his eyes shouldn’t be darting down to Sawa’s lips.

He sucks in a shaky breath. “Really?” he asks and Sawa nods jerkily. “What is probable, then?” He asks.

Sawa takes a sharp in-take of earthy air. “A rainbow after the rain. Cicadas in summer. You and Banjou defeating Faust. Snow in winter.” She pauses for a moment, looks down at Sento’s lips as he draws just a little bit closer. “Sochi’s coffee forever tasting terrible. The sun breaking through the clouds. The… way…”

Her words trail off as Sento leans forward gently and presses his lips gently against hers.

All at once, the rain surges to a deafening volume, filling his ears and every part of his body as he breathes in Sawa and kisses her so gently, as if she could break beneath the cushion of his lips. Slowly, her hands move up over his arms and around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls herself closer to him, and gasps in a breath around his lips before pressing herself firmly against him.

Sento pulls back from the wall, his hands curling around Sawa’s waist instead of the cold metal of the bus shelter, as he takes her with him and allows his fingers to splay over her hips before one of his hands go up to cup her cheek, smooth her hair away from her face and hold her as if she was made of precious stones and glass.

Then, she pulls back and she stares at him, her eyes scanning his for any sign of regret or panic as she asks, carefully, “Sento?”, and it sounds like she’s afraid. And he is too.

But he’s so tired—too tired of being afraid. He doesn’t want to be afraid anymore.

So, he cups her face gently, takes in a deep breath of rain-filled air, and prepares himself for his next words. “ _A faint clap of thunder_ ,” he begins and Sawa’s eyes widen as she stills completely underneath his fingers. “ _Even if rain comes not, I will stay here, together with you_.”

She gasps gently, her hands finding his face in a flurry of careful touches. “I-I… thought that you didn’t know that Tanka!” She says in happy confusion. “How did you know it?”

Sento shrugs. “You reminded me.” He says simply and Sawa stares at him.

“How do you feel?” She asks and the last three words – ‘ _about the kiss_ ’ – hangs wordlessly between them.

Sento presses his forehead gently against hers, pulls back to leave a small kiss there; barely a brush of his lips, and Sawa leans into his touch. “One of the best decisions I ever made.” He murmurs into her skin. “Up there with becoming Build.”

She gives him a happy, curious smile. “Really?” She asks.

“Really.” He affirms with a nod. “How do you feel?” he asks.

Sawa bites her lip, allows a sliver of fear allow to peek out from her eyes. “Afraid.” She replies softly, like rain and pulling back the covers on a freshly made bed; afraid to make a mess of everything. “Aren’t you?”

He strokes his thumb over her cheek. “I’m tired of being afraid.” He tells her. “This is the one thing I’m not afraid about. I won’t let myself become afraid by it. I like you, Sawa.” He says, the words coming from an unspoken recess of his mind, and it feels like a pressure being lifted from his chest and a plaster being ripped off at the same time, and it stings slightly as Sawa stares up at him with wide eyes.

He holds her as she looks down, squeezes her eyes shut and leans fully into him, his hand slipping from her face to wrap around her body and hold her close. She clutches at the front of his sweater desperately and he strokes her hair as she tries not to cry on him, as his heart sinks, his eyes squeezing shut as he realizes that this was all a big mistake. Maybe he read her wrong, maybe Sawa doesn’t like him like he likes her. Maybe this was all hopeless from the beginning.

And, then, finally; “I like you too, Sento.”

Sento lets out a sigh of relief and holds her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he rocks her back and forth, listening to her breathe in sharply as if preparing herself to say something that pains her, and then she does. “I don’t want to be afraid.” Her voice comes, muffled by his sweater. “But I’m so afraid.” 

He clutches her close and strokes her hair and rubs her back soothingly. “It’s okay.” He says. “You can be afraid. What are you afraid of?” He asks.

“What this means.” She says shakily. “And what this changes.”

“It doesn’t change anything if you don’t want it to.” Sento tells her truthfully and Sawa nods into his chest.

She clutches him tighter. “I need time.” She says. “For this.”

“As much as you need.” Sento assures her, and, consoled, Sawa buries herself into Sento’s sweater to calm herself down.

Sento holds her against his chest underneath a bus shelter in the falling rain, and he watches as the sun peaks through the clouds—a bright sliver of hope through the darkness of the clouds, and he promises her time. All the time in the world. As much as she wants to think and compute and become less afraid, because he loves her, and you’d give anything to the ones you loved, even if it killed you in the end.

He holds her and tries not to think about how he probably doesn’t have much time left.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [ cherry-kirsch ](cherry-kirsch.tumblr.com) || twitter: [ cherriwrites ](https://twitter.com/cherriwrites)


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